I kiss my daughter; she twists away. “No,” she says.

“Don’t you hate that?” Margie sighs. “We do enough. We deserve kisses.”

I remember uncomfortable playground embraces. Unwanted subway pawing. Nights reluctantly spent.

“No,” I say. The word is whiskey. Dark, strong, medicinal. I smile and watch the girls play.

Ashley Scott lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. She loves writing that packs a lot into a little. You can find her short stories and flash fiction in online literary publications, including On the Premises.